tableau vivant

August 10, 2006

Quit your Addiction – James Broughton

Filed under: Poetry — by cerene @ 8:27 pm

    Quit your addiction
    to sneer and complaint
    Try a little flaunt
    Call for comrades
    who bolster your vim
    and offer you risk
    Corral the crones
    Goose the nice nellies
    Hunt the bear that hugs
    and the raven that quoths
    Stay up all night
    to devise a new dawn

Why then do we not despair ? – Anna Akhmatova

Filed under: Poetry — by cerene @ 7:49 pm

    Everything is plundered, betrayed, sold,
    Death’s great black wing scrapes the air,
    Misery gnaws to the bone.
    Why then do we not despair?

    By day, from the surrounding woods,
    cherries blow summer into town;
    at night the deep transparent skies
    glitter with new galaxies.

    And the miraculous comes so close
    to the ruined, dirty houses –
    something not known to anyone at all,
    but wild in our breast for centuries.

Since feeling is first – EE Cummings

Filed under: Poetry — by cerene @ 7:46 pm

    since feeling is first
    who pays any attention
    to the syntax of things
    will never wholly kiss you;

    wholly to be a fool
    while Spring is in the world

    my blood approves,
    and kisses are a better fate
    than wisdom
    lady i swear by all the flowers. Don’t cry
    - the best gesture of my brain is less than
    your eyelids’ flutter which says

    we are for each other: then
    laugh, leaning back in my arms
    for life’s not a paragraph

    and death i think is no parenthesis

Leisure – William Henry Davies

Filed under: Poetry — by cerene @ 7:30 pm

    What is this life if, full of care,
    We have no time to stand and stare.

    No time to stand beneath the boughs
    And stare as long as sheep or cows.

    No time to see, when woods we pass,
    Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

    No time to see, in broad daylight,
    Streams full of stars, like skies at night.

    No time to turn at Beauty’s glance,
    And watch her feet, how they can dance.

    No time to wait till her mouth can
    Enrich that smile her eyes began.

    A poor life this is if, full of care,
    We have no time to stand and stare.

God Pours Light – Hafiz

Filed under: Poetry — by cerene @ 7:17 pm

    God
    pours light
    into every cup,
    quenching darkness.

    The proudly pious
    stuff their cups with parchment
    and critique the taste of ink

    while God pours light

    and the trees lift their limbs
    without worry of redemption,
    every blossom a chalice.

    Hafiz, seduce those withered souls
    with words that wet their parched lips

    as light
    pours like rain
    into every empty cup
    set adrift on the Infinite Ocean.

When They Sleep – Rolf Jacobsen

Filed under: Poetry — by cerene @ 7:06 pm

    All people are children when they sleep.
    There’s no war in them then.
    They open their hands and breathe
    in that quiet rhythm heaven has given them.

    They pucker their lips like small children
    and open their hands halfway,
    soldiers and statesmen, servants and masters.
    The stars stand guard
    and a haze veils the sky,
    a few hours when no one will do anybody harm.

    If only we could speak to one another then
    when our hearts are half-open flowers.
    Words like golden bees
    would drift in.
    – God, teach me the language of sleep.

But outer Space – Robert Frost

Filed under: Poetry — by cerene @ 7:00 pm

    But outer Space,
    At least this far,
    For all the fuss
    Of the populace
    Stays more popular
    Than populous

When You Come – Maya Angelou

Filed under: Poetry — by cerene @ 6:57 pm

    When you come to me, unbidden,
    Beckoning me
    To long-ago rooms,
    Where memories lie.

    Offering me, as to a child, an attic,
    Gatherings of days too few.
    Baubles of stolen kisses.
    Trinkets of borrowed loves.
    Trunks of secret words.

Hope – Lisel Mueller

Filed under: Poetry — by cerene @ 6:51 pm

    It hovers in dark corners
    before the lights are turned on,
    it shakes sleep from its eyes
    and drops from mushroom gills,
    it explodes in the starry heads
    of dandelions turned sages,
    it sticks to the wings of green angels
    that sail from the tops of maples.

    It sprouts in each occluded eye
    of the many-eyed potato,
    it lives in each earthworm segment
    surviving cruelty,
    it is the motion that runs the tail of a dog,
    it is the mouth that inflates the lungs
    of the child that has just been born.

    It is the singular gift
    we cannot destroy in ourselves,
    the argument that refutes death,
    the genius that invents the future,
    all we know of God.

    It is the serum which makes us swear
    not to betray one another;
    it is in this poem, trying to speak.

Love – Czeslaw Milosz

Filed under: Poetry — by cerene @ 6:45 pm

    Love means to learn to look at yourself
    The way one looks at distant things
    For you are only one thing among many.
    And whoever sees that way heals his heart,
    Without knowing it, from various ills.
    A bird and a tree say to him: Friend.
    Then he wants to use himself and things
    So that they stand in the glow of ripeness.
    It doesn’t matter whether he knows what he serves:
    Who serves best doesn’t always understand.

Powered by WordPress.com